No shapes or colours in the end.
First dad, then mum and now the son,
unscrewed the cap, life turned to crap,
their down and fall had soon begun.
To Rob a life by drip and drop,
life’s water lost, a bottle found.
Chin up, gin down and down he fell,
his head a-swim, began to drown.
I wrote a list of tales and joy,
a best man’s speech to give one day.
The words I spoke and tears I choked,
he never heard them anyway.
No script, no book, no film, no fame,
his zest, his joy, that clever head.
Like him all wasted, squandered, lost,
pissed down the drain now he is dead.
good point on the capitals, I'll edit that.
*I can't remember whether this is by Eugene O'Neill or Arthur Miller.
Hi, Leo, what a waste of a life - or several lives.
The last verse says it all - not 'drowned and contented on the bottom of a bottle'*, not pissed again, but all potential pissed away to nothing.
'he never heard them anyway' - so empty, but also a kind of frustration and acceptance: a way of saying with a shrug, 'that's Rob for you, pissed again.'
Do you need capitals at Dad and Mum? If they're not the speaker's parents you don't.
I like it. It's not a sad poem - it's an angry one, sarcastic, sneering, but also heart-breaking.
Lorraine